


We Are Gonna Be Friends

by leopxld_fitz



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Thoughts, Crushes, Fitz can write a little character introspection fic, Introspection, M/M, Missing Scene, Patrick 'Heart Eyes' Brewer, as a treat, but only for Moira's part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24237694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopxld_fitz/pseuds/leopxld_fitz
Summary: Patrick makes a good first impression. Patrick’s crush on David is also pretty palpable, right from the start, if you ask anyone but David. The three most important women in David’s life meet Patrick for the first time, all within the walls of the very thing that brought them together in the first place - Rose Apothecary. Set during 3x9, 3x11, and 3x12.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 38
Kudos: 247





	We Are Gonna Be Friends

Contrary to popular belief, Alexis Rose is up to a challenge. 

If there’s one thing she can’t stand, it’s people underestimating her. There’s a cavernous difference between not wanting to do things that she doesn’t care about and not being competent. When it’s something she cares about, she has a tendency to take challenges deeply personally. She chalks it up to most of her father’s determination skipping over her brother and lacing itself into her genetics. David would tell you that he has plenty of that determination because he owns a business. Alexis would remind you of the time(s) that she made David cry as a kid during MarioKart. 

But she knows what she’s capable of. And she knows what she wants. When those things combine, she tends to be unstoppable. 

And when an _adorable_ man walks through the door of her brother’s new shop while she’s helping out, she knows _exactly_ what she wants. 

It’s no secret that Schitt’s Creek doesn’t have many eligible bachelors - at least not ones that Alexis would consider so - and this man is...very cute. He’s got the biggest, widest Bambi eyes she’s ever seen, and an unparalleled boy-next-door vibe that she can absolutely play off of. He’s wholesome in a farm boy, Old Navy ad sort of way. If he showed up holding a leash to a Golden Retriever while wearing affordable looking cargo shorts, she doesn’t think she’d bat an eye. 

He compliments the store and she swings around to look at him, suddenly thankful that she thought to throw on an off-the-shoulder top today. As far as first impressions go, it tends to be a winner. “Oh, um, we’re actually not open yet,” she tells him. “But that’s so sweet, thank you. We’ve been working very hard.” She hits him with a specific look. Chin down, eyes up, coy smile. It, also, tends to be a winner. 

Then he...laughs? She’s processing rapidly until he says, “Well, I’m actually not here to shop. I’m, uh, I’m Patrick. I’m just dropping off David’s business license.” He holds up the frame, as if proof, and then places it down on the wooden counter. It’s a little clinical, as far as frames go. But she thinks she can tell there was effort there. 

_How thoughtful of you, Old Navy._ “Well, isn’t that the sweetest thing,” she muses, face splitting into a blinding smile. “Um, David’s in the back, but I’m Alexis - ” She makes a point of sweeping her hair back off of her shoulder to reveal her neck, tapping the initial on her necklace. “- And I’m currently studying business, and I’m David’s sister and life coach, so.”

He smiles at her. Genuinely. But it’s not quite what she’s looking for when all he offers is, “Well, it’s great to meet you, Alexis.” No change in posture or tone. No flirtatious remark back. 

Huh. 

Patrick doesn’t offer her his hand so she decides to give him hers, extending a hand out as she twists some. 

He takes it, a little awkwardly, and tries to shake it. 

Huh x2. 

Alexis decides to be more pointed. Maybe he’s just polite and doesn’t want to seem forward. It’s the kind of thing Ted would do. Granted, even Ted had had a little more oomph in than that. Maybe everyone in Schitt’s Creek is just excessively nice while flirting. “Um, I’m sorry if my hands are too soft,” she says, stacking her other hand into his as well. “I’ve just been sampling a lot of product.” She turns, hair moving, gesturing daintily at the boxes around. No reaction. “So...really soft,” she emphasizes. 

Patrick nods, looking like he’s been caught somewhere he doesn’t especially want to be. “They are,” he agrees. Then he rubs his fingers together and tries to discreetly wipe it off on his jeans. 

Huh x3. 

Her competitive edge kicks in. She’s not even that interested in him - it’s just that he’s wearing Wrangler’s and she’s not about to be tuned out or ignored by a man wearing _Wrangler’s_ and no wedding ring. She doesn’t really care how interested he is anymore. She just wants to know that he _can_ be interested, and that she doesn’t have to burn this top. 

She’s laying out every trick in the book, getting close to him, laughing at his jokes, finding excuses to touch him lightly. Zero. Zilch. Nothing. Nada. He continues to look at her like he’s on the other end of some weird inside joke, or like he’s putting up with something. It’s annoying. 

She loops a cat hair scarf - ew - around his neck out of sheer frustration, wondering why he doesn’t just _leave_ if he doesn’t want to be there when the answer makes itself painfully apparent.

Her brother walks back in the room and, all of the sudden, Patrick’s eyes are glued to him. He turns his full body away from Alexis to face David, face sort of lighting up. Like he could finally breathe. Or like he’d finally found something he’d been searching for forever. 

Oh.   
  


_Oh._

Alexis feels the annoyance drain rapidly out of her body. Of course. It makes so much sense. The reason he was turning down all her advances but staying camped out in the store. He wasn’t there for her. He was there for David. 

She reconfigures in a matter of seconds, regrouping internally and emerging with a new goal. Making her brother notice this man who has been waiting twenty minutes just to say hi. 

David’s telling Patrick to take off the cat scarf - oops - and she sidles up to him at the counter as he picks up the business license. “Isn’t that the sweetest thing? That he framed it?” she asks David in a hush before shooting Patrick a completely different smile. A knowing one. They’re on the same team now. 

Then David’s _insulting_ the frame that he can’t tell that Patrick’s lying about, and she realizes he needs all the Alexis Rose charm in his corner that he can get. Her tactics may not have worked for her, but she is _confident_ that they would work for him. Sometimes her brother needs help speaking to others like a human. She’s charitable enough to donate her knowledge to his cause. 

Plucking a bottle off of a table, she walks over to David, interrupting with, “David, I was just about to sample the unisex Mennonite cologne on Patrick.” She catches Patrick’s eyes, who immediately looks away, a hint of a blush tinting his ears. She’s trying to give the cologne to her brother when he starts going off about her sample abuse instead, and she could scream. She gives a pointed look or two over at Patrick as he rants, hoping that he’ll take the hint. 

He doesn’t. 

She can’t contain her frustration when she replies, “Well, I flattened out the lip balm, so no one’s gonna notice.” Her eyes are wide as she stares back at her brother, willing him through any sort of sibling telepathy to stop _freaking out_ and notice the adorable man who seems to have come here with the sole intention of seeing him.

She’s so annoyed that when Patrick starts to pick at David’s business strategy - something that she could have told him was very much not the move - she just joins in, touching Patrick’s arm in an overly familiar manner, encouraging the whole thing. Just because she likes to stir her brother up, and she can tell it’s working by the way it suddenly looks like there are hooks in the corners of his mouth and eyebrows, pulling his face into something just shy of a true scowl.

And then he’s defending his store and he’s looking at her but he’s _speaking_ to Patrick, and she knows it. He’s never cared if she approved of what he was doing. In fact, there have been times in their life when he took her disapproval as a _good_ sign. It’s a weird, nebulous space to be in, and she’s torn between her original intent to get him to notice Patrick and her new drive to mess with him. She mumbles an excuse - _“Well, I don’t have my textbook on me” -_ and glances at Patrick. 

Patrick, for his part, his smiling. “I stand corrected.” 

Then her _brother_ is smiling, too, his lips pressed into a line the way he does when he doesn’t really want to give all the way into it. 

She _beams_ at Patrick, but he doesn’t see it, because those big doe eyes are still stuck on David as he offers to help. It might have been why he came in or he might have just been trying to smooth things over. Either way, Alexis feels like she understands his intent. 

David ignores Patrick’s kindness to toss a barb at her - again - and replies with, “Um, why? Alexis is here helping.” 

God, does she have to do everything around here?

Alexis decides to throw her weight behind Patrick, whether David likes it or not. “Well, no. If Patrick has offered to move all the boxes,” a glance at him. The eyes are drilling into her now, his eyebrows arched high up on his forehead. She wishes she could wink without David seeing it. “Then I think we should let him.” 

“Uh, is that what I offered?” Patrick practically croaks back at her. 

She responds with a twist of her shoulder, a tilt of her head. She’s working hard to imply the most without saying anything. 

“Okay, well, thank you, Patrick,” David finally concedes, clutching a bottle of mousse somewhat dramatically. 

She takes the liberty of responding. “You’re welcome,” she tells him, because she’s the one truly doing the work here, and then gives Patrick his marching orders. 

To his credit, Patrick just rubs his hands together and gives her a thumbs up. She’s pretty sure he would have physically rolled up his sleeves, had they not already been in that position. 

She waits until Patrick’s safely in the back room and then she can’t contain it anymore, knees bending some, eyes widening, hands still clutching at the cologne bottle. 

David mouths back, “What?” 

He can play dumb all she wants. She makes the “okay” sign with her hand close to her chest, trying to express her vehement approval of Mr. Old Navy. She likes him. She likes him so much that she doesn’t even care about the face he’s making at her. 

Whatever. She’ll try to tell him later.

\---

Stevie loves mocking David. 

She fucking loves it. She’d rank it in her top three favorite pastimes. It was up there with day drinking and watching trash television (not that she’d ever tell anyone about that last part under threat nor force). 

She sometimes thinks about how bored they both must have been before they met each other. Tormenting him keeps her busy, and David’s the type of person who needs to have his feathers ruffled a few times a day to keep him in check with reality. She does it out of love, really. It’s a public service. The daily David Rose vibe check. 

And though she would never fully, willingly, audibly admit it, she has missed him lately. Her days just aren’t as much fun when there’s not a panic from David Rose in them. They’ve both been so busy with their respective businesses that they haven’t been seeing as much of each other. It’s natural, she knows, but it’s also...kinda nice to get to hang with him some. 

That doesn’t really mean she wants him _in her fucking home_ tonight, but he’s gone Full David over the lice thing, and her amusement makes up for it, so she lets it slide. 

She lets herself get roped into helping out at the store, and she tells herself that it’s only because she wants to continue taking potshots at him - why else would she give up her day off - but she was, admittedly, having fun and didn’t really feel like going home to sit on the couch alone. 

David’s giving her stuff to do, and her question is innocent enough. “Can you drink these?” she asks, picking up the bottle of body milk and turning it over in her palm. 

“Uh, it’s liquid moisturizer for your body, so um, no, you can’t drink them,” he tells her, as if _she_ is somehow the one being ridiculous in this situation. 

She cuts him a look, but he’s spared from her retort (a shame, because it was a good one) by the sound of the sign clattering against the door as someone enters, and in walks the most...squeaky looking man she’s ever seen in her life. She’s racking through information in her head, trying to figure out what’s happening when he dives right into the conversation that’s already transpiring. 

“Did you ask if you can drink it, too?” the man asks, setting down a thick padfolio on the wooden counter. She swears she sees a glint of something in his eyes. 

And as soon as she hears David’s dismayed “ _Okay -_ “ she knows this is going to get good. She can’t help the way her face lights up at the first sign of chaos. It’s a personality defect. It’s also what makes her fun. 

“It says _body milk_ on the label,” David’s emphasizing, looking just a touch more amused than he really has any right to, given that he’s the target. 

The man ignores David, speaking instead to Stevie. “You know, I told David that the label was gonna be misleading, but he insisted,” he tells her. The glint Stevie saw is _definitely_ there. The words also confirm him as David’s mysterious new business partner that she has been forbidden from speaking to for the past week. “What was it you said?” he asks rhetorically, picking up a bottle, and Stevie _loves_ the prop usage. “That anyone with a fiber of common sense would know that it’s not actually milk?”

Stevie doesn’t need to look at David immediately to know that the barb landed. Instead, she shares a knowing look with the man as David begins to object, saying something else about body milk that Stevie mostly tunes out. She wonders what he’d do if she chugged it in front of him. She might die, but the look on his face would probably be worth it. Instead she stage whispers, “ _Exactly_ ,” dramatically, doing what she can to continue to get under David’s skin without an untimely demise. 

The man grins. Points a bit. “Stevie, right?” 

“Yeah.” Oh, good. So they both know who the other one is. She’s not sure if she’s comforted or concerned.

“I’m Patrick. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, and she lands on concern.

“ _None_ of it is true,” she blurts out. The chance of David actually saying something inflammatory about her is slim to none, but she also knows that he has the tendency to give his own David Take on things - lest they forget when he told her that Patrick had insulted his business idea when he’d done no such thing - and she wants to clear the air before David gets the chance to tell him that she sleeps upside down at night or smokes joints that she finds under motel beds. Which is only half true. 

She doesn’t need to be concerned. Patrick’s face is serious as he deadpans back, “Oh, anyone with a fiber of common sense would know that.” 

And she just can’t _help it._ She is fucking elated that there seems to be another person that’s not his sister planted firmly in ‘give David Rose a hard time’ territory. She turns to look at her friend, mouth stretched open in delight, eyes blown wide. “I like him,” she says seriously before turning back to Patrick. “I like you.” 

It sounds somewhat surprised, and she sort of is. By all descriptions of this man that David has given her, she expected him to be a little more sterile. She’s also more than a little shocked that she finds herself able to be so forthright with her feelings. But if it means earning an ally, she’s willing to compromise a little here. 

David, predictably, is feigning upset, objecting to their newly minted team-up. She can tell he’s not actually mad. She knows him too well. 

_Welcome to having friends, David Rose. You’re gonna hate it._

It seems that Patrick, too, has already learned how to make these estimations of David’s mood on his own, because he’s striding forward across the store, and Stevie just leans against the counter to observe. He’s doing quite well on his own and doesn’t seem to need her help. She’d rather see where he goes with this. 

“Are...are you wearing a shower cap?” Patrick asks, a hand resting heavily on the table. He’s chewing on his cheek, squinting as he scrutinizes. And Stevie is downright impressed with how quickly David comes out with the truth. Even she couldn’t do that back when they first met. Hell, she couldn’t do it _this morning._ She’s going to tell herself that she warmed David up for him. Like trying on a pasta sauce jar lid a few times before passing it off to someone else. David Rose is her stubborn Prego lid. 

Patrick decides to dig in his heels about not being able to sell the hat, instead, which Stevie thinks is a little off the path she was hoping this would go down, so she chimes in with, “Oh, he doesn’t have it, I checked his head. I think the shower cap is more of a fashion choice at this point.” 

Patrick only spares a glance in her direction before he’s back on the lice thing, and, for a moment, Stevie regrets engaging this whole thing. If he riles David up too much about it, _she_ is going to have to be the one to calm him down. She wishes she had the privilege of being able to just roll into David’s life, cause a problem, and then roll back out again, but that’s not the case for her. At least not today. Today she can’t leave him at the motel. Also he has her phone number, which she still sort of regrets giving him, even years later. 

Then her thoughts come to a halt as Patrick says, “You can crash at my place tonight, if you need to,” like some sort of psychic savior. 

It’s all she can do to keep from enthusiastically accepting on David’s behalf, so instead she just gestures encouragingly at Patrick in the background. 

Then David’s voice and face go soft, and she’s staring at the pair with wide eyes. She’d been so excited at the concept of someone else helping her annoy David that she hadn’t realized that half of them were _flirting_. But the way they’re looking at each other now...that’s pretty unmistakable. 

Now she wants David to take him up on the offer for more than one reason, and she’s shaking her head as David claims that she ‘offered’ her place. David should, under no circumstances, be spending the night in her home when there’s a lovely, flirty man inviting him into his bedroom. No way. “Can _I_ crash at your place?” Stevie asks pointedly. 

Patrick just laughs, but David doesn’t buckle. He just says, “This is fun for me. I’m having a lot of fun,” before starting to turn back to his task. 

If Patrick’s horribly disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He just kind of looks back at Stevie. But she swears there’s an understanding there. That David’s being obtuse and missing out on something here. Something unspoken that maybe isn’t ready to be said. Not quite yet. 

Fuck, she’s going to have to talk to him about this later, isn’t she? 

\---

It wasn’t that she had doubts, per se. 

Not really, anyway. Not about David. No, Moira Rose was a woman of many feelings, but she never truly doubted him. If anything, she merely felt such a strong connection with her eldest child that she wished to protect him. If he poured his heart and soul into something, and she couldn’t personally ensure that it would be a success, what would happen? She couldn’t convince the good people of Schitt’s Creek to have taste. 

She’d tried. 

She doesn’t have doubts. She has fears. She has, dare she say, an anxious something or other nibbling at her ear, born of maternal instinct. 

As she strolls up to the shop, one arm looped gracefully through her husband’s elbow, she realizes she needn’t have worried. 

John has to pardon them as they snake their way to the front of the store through the group milling outside. She feels her eyes drift up as they enter, taking everything in. The decor, the wine selection, the throng of guests crowding the space. Everything from the branding to the soft jazz filtering through the speakers is…

Beautiful. He’s done a beautiful job. 

“ _Wow_ ,” is the only word, for once, that her mouth can find. 

She’s pleased to find that her husband is as impressed with David as she is. She takes that as a good sign. She can most certainly attest for his taste, but if John approves, that must mean that his business looks sound as well as attractive. 

She discusses the positive attributes of the store with John, the both of them stuck in a state of true wonder. Their eyes land on their son at the same time, standing in the corner, working to tell a man a scarf. There have been times in her life when she would have rushed over to insert herself, trying to help. They both would have. But she can see now, for the first time, that he doesn’t need it, and so she advocates for them to let their baby bird fly. 

Instead, they get wine, and she allows herself to lazily peruse the store, people-watching as her husband admires the selection of products available and mutters into her ear about how smart their son’s choices have been. The people leave...something to be desired. Plenty of people in sports themed t-shirts or thong sandals, but they seem to be properly appreciating her sons store.

It’s not long until Alexis appears with...Terry. No! Tomàs. No...Barnaby? 

John tells her his name. She repeats it. She forgets nearly immediately. It’s not personal. 

Moira is saved from any potential decline in social graces when Alexis tells them that she passed her classes and, not for the first time that day, she feels something in her chest swell with a surge of surprising pride at her children’s success. Perhaps she didn’t do such a horrendous job in raising them, after all. She will remind them of this the next time they try to be cruel.

It isn’t long until Moira’s eyes drift from her son to the man who has been working dutifully behind the counter as David stays on the sales floor. She watches him for a moment as he moves smoothly from one customer to the next, the same deeply contented smile on his face the entire time. 

“John,” she prompts softly, laying a hand at her husband’s elbow without looking at him. “Who is that?” 

“Huh?” is John’s initial response before he stops reading a bottle of body milk in confusion. “Oh, that must be uh, that’s David’s business partner. Patrick, I think his name is.” 

“Patrick,” she repeats, testing out the name, the consonants popping on her tongue. “I take it you’ve already spoken to the little cherub?”

Something more sheepish passes over John’s face as he sets the bottle down. “Well...no. No, not exactly,” he admits, hand gesturing vaguely before finding its way into his pocket. 

Moira’s face falls. “John,” she repeats, this time deadly serious. “Do you mean to tell me that you failed to properly appraise our son’s newly minted colleague?”  
  
Now John’s eyeing Patrick, too, looking wary. “Well, it’s just been so busy at the motel lately, and I thought that we were trying to give him his independence…” 

“Says the man who struck up with the likes of Eli!” Moira castigates, looking over her husband’s face. “He could be a common criminal! Or one of those thieves that will steal David’s teeth in his sleep and assume his identity!”

John’s look is fond but skeptical. “Honey, I don’t think that can happen outside of _Sunrise Bay._ ” 

“Well,” Moira scoffs. “I will not let our beloved progeny undergo the same fate that befell my step-half-sister Rhonda.” She opens a fridge door next to her and fishes out a wheel of brie. “I am going to go and introduce ourselves.” 

John looks briefly like he thinks of objecting but decides against it. “Don’t you mean we, sweetheart?” he asks hopefully as she takes a step. 

Moira pauses, giving him a smile over her shoulder. “Oh, yes, you may come along if you’d like,” she replies, as if it hadn’t really crossed her mind. 

Then she’s starting across the store and she feels eyes on her. She looks up to find David’s gaze drilling a hole in her. She waves. Points to Patrick. 

Then she sees her son mouth _“oh my God”_ from across the store, and she wonders briefly if all children of acclaimed actresses are gifted such a natural proclivity to dramatics. It was a true shame that he only ached for the spotlight off of the stage.

Moira and John get in line behind the woman that Patrick is currently ringing up a candle for. He looks up briefly, clocks the three of the Roses rapidly moving in his direction, and goes back to what he was doing. 

David finally manages his way through the crowd after being stopped once by a customer just as Moira and John get up to the counter. David’s standing there, hands on his hips, face pained as they approach. 

“Hello, David,” Moira greets innocently, plopping her cheese down on the counter before turning her attention to the other man. “And _you_ , you must be Parker.” 

“ _Patrick_ -” David corrects in a snap, eyes threatening to evaporate his mother on the spot. “And he is very hard at work so if you could please just -”

“Hey, David, it’s okay,” Patrick assures him, voice steady. He extends his hand to his business partner’s parents. “Rumors are true. I’m Patrick. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Rose. I’m really glad you guys could make it in.” 

It doesn’t escape her attention how Patrick managed to soothe her son with just a few words. She watches as David nearly visibly deflates, eyeing the back of Patrick’s head. They seem...attuned to each other. 

John shakes it, shooting Moira an impressed look that isn’t terribly subtle. “Yes, yes, it’s ah, it’s good to finally meet you, too, Patrick. You boys have really created something here.” 

Moira, for her part, merely places her hand into Patrick’s, leaving the other man a little unsure of what to do with it, unwittingly mirroring her daughter. “Indeed you have,” she concurs, smiling at him. “You have truly transformed our humble general store into quite the little cynosure.” 

Patrick’s eyes are warm, if not confused. “Well...thank you,” he says genuinely, still maintaining that happy little beam on his face. “It was all David,” he deflects, laying a hand briefly on David’s bicep. “This all came from his head. I’m just a numbers guy.” 

David visibly softens, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “Well, not everything,” he demurs softly, a small but incredibly pleased smile on his lips, his gaze borderline enamored. “We wouldn’t be open without Patrick, so. There is. That.” 

Patrick looks at him meaningfully, and Moira feels herself take in a little breath despite herself. No one notices, and for once, she’s glad. 

“Very humble of you, David,” Patrick teases, finally grabbing the wheel of cheese and putting it into a bag before punching in the numbers. 

Moira steps back to let John pay for their purchase and continues to observe the body language between the pair, the corners of her mouth tacked up slightly. Yes, there’s definitely a spark of something between them. She sees it more and more the longer she stands with them. 

Briefly, she entertains the notion of telling David that he definitively has this man’s affections. Later, of course. In the privacy of their hotel room where there wouldn’t be bystanders around to listen to them discuss David’s _affaires de coeur._ It’s more than apparent in the way Patrick looks at him, the trouble he’s gone to to speak with them. He seems to know David, and he seems to really care about what he knows. It’s all she could want for him. 

Oh, but she’s not new to this game. The very fact that Patrick’s emotions are so easily visible to Moira - and, she’s sure, everyone else but her son - means that it won’t be long until it bubbles over. No, she won’t tell him. She doesn’t think she’ll need to wait long, either.

When it’s time for them to go - only after John has criticized the price of the brie and David has gotten defensive again - she says her goodbyes. “It was lovely to meet you,” Moira tells Patrick, and she means it. She means it so much that David pins her with a somewhat suspicious look. “And David?” 

He looks at her. Waits. 

“Congratulations,” she tells him, just as earnest. 

David’s features melt into a soft little smile. “Thank you.” 

With that, Moira picks up her bag and her husband’s hand, giving a little wave before departing. 

She feels a lingering warmth, knowing that her son is with capable, caring hands. Truth be told, they reminded her very much of her and John, back when they first met. John was sturdy and solid, even when she was ardent and tumultuous. 

Moira looks fondly at her husband. 

She thinks David has chosen well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This, like all my writing, was proof-read by my loving partner, whom I paid for her services in Cheez-Its. Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm on Tumblr at @leopxld-fitz!


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